The Groom Came C.o.d.. Mollie Molay
She hesitated. “Actually, if I decide to go through with the wedding I was going to ask the Reverend Charles Good to conduct the ceremony. Charles is a good friend of Aunt Bertie’s.”
“A real minister?”
“Of course.”
“No way!” Ben rose and paced the kitchen floor. He counted off the squares in the brown and white linoleum until his frustration cooled. “I’m not going to take a chance on anything going wrong. I have a friend back in Boston who is a drama professor. Dex will fly out to do the honors if I ask him to. He’ll not only look and act like a real minister, there’s a plus.”
“What’s that,” she asked cautiously. “No one will ever see him again.”
“We can’t,” she protested. “It would break my aunt’s heart, and I’d feel like a fraud!”
His eyebrows rose. “Would you feel any differently if this friend of your aunt’s performed a mock-ceremony without a license?”
Melinda glanced down at her clenched hands. Her heart was breaking into little pieces. The dream she’d woven into her fantasy wedding was crumbling fast, and she didn’t know how to stop it. A platonic, temporary marriage with a man she’d yearned over for half of her life was the last thing she’d expected. How could she have gotten in so deep?
Ben cleared his throat. He’d never seen a more unhappy look on the face of a woman who had just gotten engaged. He’d have to make it up to her later. “Sorry. Tell the reverend I’m having a close college friend do the honors. Just be sure he doesn’t know the truth. What he and Ms. Bertie don’t know won’t hurt them.” He hesitated. “Oh, one more thing. I want you to take my photograph off that damn dating Web site before anyone else sees it!”
“I told you I had nothing to do with putting it on there!”
“I don’t care. If it’s not too late, see if you can get me off there before the whole town sees it.”
Chapter Three
Ben headed for his office wondering just what he’d talked himself into.
Built on to a side of the Oak Tree distillery, the office was a refuge where he could let the world, the telephone and the fax machine go by when he was so inclined. After his mind-boggling discussion with Melinda and her aunt, he was definitely inclined.
Shaded by the oak trees that surrounded the building, the office was cool and scented with the rich pungent aroma of fine fruit brandies that were Oak Tree’s specialty. On the other side of the office wall, the season’s fruit crop was being aged in oak casks until it was ready to be bottled. He took great pride in knowing that the brandies carrying the Oak Tree name were the among the finest dessert liquors on the West Coast. Maybe, in the world.
Educated as a lawyer, he’d quickly discovered practicing law wasn’t for him. For an innovative thinker like him, the law had turned out to be more about precedent than creativity. He’d realized he needed to create something tangible. That had translated into utilizing the bountiful fruit orchards on Howard family land. Happily, with his uncle’s agreement, the Oak Tree Distillery had been the answer.
He dropped into his well-worn leather chair, stared at the telephone and willed it not to ring. He needed time to pull his thoughts together, to make sense of the day’s events—if there was anything sensible about it.
What really worried him was what his uncle would think when he saw the wedding announcement in the morning newspaper. A no-nonsense, dignified man with high standards, as well as an upholder of tradition, Uncle Joseph was bound to have questions. Who wouldn’t? He had some himself.
He knew it was too late to worry when his uncle strolled into his office unannounced, the morning’s newspaper in his hand. At sixty-five, he still carried himself with dignity. So much so, no one thought to shorten his name to Joe. Not even him. In white linen slacks, light blue shirt and dark blue jacket, he looked every inch the wealthy owner of vast real estate holdings in and around Ojai. Ben took one look at the purposeful look in his uncle’s eyes, uttered a silent prayer and rose to greet him.
“Believe it or not, Uncle Joseph, I was just thinking about you.”
“Glad to hear it, my boy. I’ve been thinking about you, too.” He tossed the folded newspaper on to Ben’s desk. “I knew it was long past time for you to get married again,” his uncle commented dryly, “but did you have to keep your engagement a secret?”
Ben laughed. He hoped the laugh didn’t sound as hollow to his uncle as it did to him. “Guess you could say it happened before I knew it myself.”
“You don’t say?” His uncle dropped into a chair, crossed his legs and looked more serious than ever. A signal that trouble was coming if there ever was one. “I wonder if the story I heard at the country club this morning could also be true?”
Ben’s heart began to race. He glanced at the newspaper. Since the wedding announcement didn’t seem to have shaken his uncle, there had to be something else bothering him. “What story was that, sir?”
The answer was swift and succinct. “I find it difficult to believe, but I was told your photograph appears on an Internet Web site dating service.”
Confronted by the hole someone had dug for him, Ben froze. He’d been right. It had been too late. How in the hell was he supposed to explain what was, according to Melinda, unexplainable?
His uncle went on. “I can see from your reaction the story is true. Do you mind telling me why, if you knew Melinda Carey well enough to ask her to marry you, why you were appearing on a dating service Web site?” While Ben searched for an plausible answer, any answer, his uncle continued. “Unless, of course, that was how the two of you met?”
“Not exactly, sir. That is, the photograph is a mistake!”
“I would hope so. And the wedding announcement? Is that a mistake, too?”
“No.” From the set look on his uncle’s face, Ben knew better than to confess he was having second thoughts about marrying Melinda. Or to announce the wedding might still be in an iffy stage. “It’s a long story, sir, but you’ll have to trust me. I believe the photograph on the Internet was intended as a joke. I’ve taken steps to rectify it. You have my word.”
“Good, the sooner the better.” His uncle motioned to the newspaper, folded open to the society section. “I’m glad to see you’re marrying Bertie Blanchard’s niece. Good family, good stock. Although Ms. Bertie tends to sometimes sound a little unconventional.”
Ben thought of fate and destiny. “Unconventional” was being polite. “You know the lady?”
“Who doesn’t?” his uncle replied. His expression softened, a smile crinkled at the corners of his eyes. “She’s a fine, highly respected woman. I knew her years ago and I have a great deal of admiration for her now. You could do a lot worse than marry her niece.”
Relieved, Ben mentally crossed his fingers and prayed his uncle would never get wind of the truth. “Glad you feel that way. Did you come to congratulate me, or did you have something else on your mind besides the photograph?”
Ben searched his conscience when his uncle nodded. Outside of Melinda and her fantasy wedding, he was clean.
“Yes to both questions. As a matter of fact, I’d been meaning to talk to you soon.”
“About?”
“The future of the ranch and the distillery.” His uncle’s thoughtful gaze rested on Ben.
Relieved at the change in subject, Ben pushed the newspaper aside. “Sure. The orchards are in fine shape; producing healthy fruit right on schedule. What we haven’t raised, we’ve imported. The distillery and its crew are doing great, too. In fact, the last batches of fruit brandies we bottled were